


Beyond the Pages

by sunnysideup123



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Slavery, Anders Being Anders, Angst with a Happy Ending, Eventual Smut, F/F, F/M, Fenris Has Issues, Hawke Has Issues, It Gets Better, Mage Underground, Past Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con, Past Torture, Red Hawke, Slow Burn, Snarky Hawke, Unhealthy Relationships, Unrequited Love, Varric Tethras is a Good Friend, for a while
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-07
Updated: 2019-04-15
Packaged: 2019-11-13 05:18:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18025448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunnysideup123/pseuds/sunnysideup123
Summary: Marian Hawke is a rising journalist in a modern day Kirkwall. When Varric brings her the next big story she must navigate dangers she had not perceived and feelings she thought herself incapable of. At the same time, Fenris must learn to let down his walls and embrace those who wish to help him in his quest for freedom.“Sitting up in my suite is our ticket to the next biggest story.” Varric continued motioning his free hand in a dramatic flare, “His name is Fenris. Came across me through one of my contacts-a jumpy fellow named Anso. Point being, the broody bastard is an escaped slave from Tevinter. He's  been on the run from his former master for nearly three years and...Hawke...he’s willing to spill all of the Imperium’s dirty secrets. He’ll be anonymous of course and in exchange we have to make him a legal citizen. I already have my guys working on getting him fake identification. But, this is it Hawke. The story we’ve been waiting for… and I want you to write it.”





	1. Beginning

Dark clouds blanketed the night sky concealing stars and crescent moon alike. Through the clouds, rain poured like bullets onto the streets of Lowtown. A few unlucky souls caught in the downpour jogged down the streets, jackets pulled up over their heads. Marian Hawke chose otherwise. A few passerbyers gave her a second glance as she strolled by, face tilted back to greet the rain and a smile hinting at the edges of her full mouth. She appeared unaware of the slight chill in the air, no doubt risking a cold, and radiated a sense of misplaced elation. In truth, the rain reminded her of better times. Of Ferelden, warm fires, and the deep timber of her father.

Sighing, Marian ran a pale hand through her soaked hair, pushing the auburn locks out of her face. The Hanged Man was just up ahead, its red neon sign a beacon in the dark. In the past, Marian had always found the slightly crooked sign to be an eyesore but over time it became another enduring quality of Lowtown’s most notorious bar. The building’s chipped brick exterior and tinted windows only added to the establishment’s drab decor. But yet, inside it was a welcoming establishment, if not questionable, much like its owner Varric Tethras. 

After fleeing the Blight in Ferelden and coming to Kirkwall, Marian had been desperate for work. Varric was the first person to hire her to bartend night shifts and the two became fast friends. Eventually Marian, who at the time was a journalist student, discovered Varric also owned the controversial editorial Thedas Geographic. It featured editorials, sometimes over the span of many editions, regaling events around Thedas. At times the topics could be considered “hot button” issues like the several stories on mage rights or the series of anecdotes from elven prostitutes; too oppressed to find work elsewhere. It had been Marian’s dream to one day write for the magazine. When Varric revealed he was actually ‘Bianca’ the mysterious head writer and publisher she spent the next several months getting over a slight case of hero worship. Now a graduate from Kirkwall University and a rising star in the journalism world, Marian’s dream had come true and her articles were some of the magazine’s best. 

Occasionally, like this night, Varric would summon her to the Hanged Man at odd hours in order to go over a high profile story. The last time was a deep look into the mage underground, complete with prolific photographs featuring blurred out faces of the rebellion leaders. Anders, their close friend, was one of the main features and through the numerous interviews he was now like family. Whatever story Varric had in store for her had to be at least on par with that one. It was the only reason he would be so vague on the phone. 

Marian avoided the front doors of the bar and instead slid into the side alley towards the back door. She fished out the key Varric had given her and easily slipped inside the back room. The warmth of the Hanged Man greeted her along with distant murmurs from patrons and the smell of alcohol mixed with sweat. The place was normally overwhelmingly boisterous but with the rain not many bar goers wanted to venture out. 

Leaving small puddles in her wake, Marian skirted past the kitchen to avoid Nora’s disapproving scowl and made her way towards the staircase leading to Varric’s suite. As she turned the corner she stopped so suddenly her wet boots nearly slid out from under her. Varric awaited her on the first steps, lounging lazily with a mug of whiskey in his hand. The dwarf was dressed as always- a burgundy, deep cut shirt which showed off his ample chest hair and a pair of nearly flamboyant trousers. His hazel eyes seemed to smile at her while he peered over his mug, raised in mid-sip. Marian smirked back before plopping down next to her friend. Her jeans instantly created a tiny puddle. 

She tugged playfully at Varric’s short ponytail, nearly pulling some lightly hued strands loose, “So what’s the emergency?” 

Varric swatted her hand away half heartedly, “Not an emergency Hawke, more of an once in a lifetime opportunity. How would you feel about pissing off the whole of the Tevinter Imperium?” 

Marian’s silver eyes widened slightly, “And how or why would I do that…don’t leave me in suspense Varric.” 

“Sitting up in my suite is our ticket to the next biggest story.” Varric continued motioning his free hand in a dramatic flare, “His name is Fenris. Came across me through one of my contacts-a jumpy fellow named Anso. Point being, the broody bastard is an escaped slave from Tevinter. He's been on the run from his former master for nearly three years and...Hawke...he’s willing to spill all of the Imperium’s dirty secrets. He’ll be anonymous of course and in exchange we have to make him a legal citizen. I already have my guys working on getting him fake identification. But, this is it Hawke. The story we’ve been waiting for… and I want you to write it.” 

Marian leaned back against the stairs, mind whirling. The Tevinter Imperium was almost impossible to get inside information on. The border control was nearly impenetrable and the magisters who called it home held no desire to share their secrets. Despite this, it was common knowledge that mages ruled free with blood magic and slavery remained the backbone of its economy. Elves, the Imperium’s preferred enslaved race, had attempted to flee in the past. Most were hunted down before reaching free land by Tevinter bounty hunters. The few who did make it tended to become easy marks and were either sold back to the Imperium or killed for their profitable bounty within months. It was a problem and one often swept under the rug for fear of angering the elite magisters. To have access to actual information on the inner workings would change everything but sharing it could prove fatal to those involved. 

A strange grin spread across Marian’s face, “You said his name was Fenris? I want to meet him.” 

If he was surprised, Varric gave no hint of it. Instead, the dwarf tipped his glass back and swallowed down the last few dregs of amber liquid. He set the now empty mug down on the steps and pushed himself up to his feet, “Somehow I knew you would say that Hawke. I’d say you were getting predictable but then you’ll go and do something to prove me wrong.” 

 

Shaking her head, Hawke began to climb up the stairs with Varric trailing behind her, “It’s almost as if you know me.” 

When she reached out to grab the doorknob of Varric’s suite the dwarf stayed her hand, “One last thing...the elf isn’t the easiest fellow to get along with so you might want to watch that mouth of yours.” 

Marian raised a single brow, “Right, because your’s is so much better.” 

“You wound me.” 

Letting out a soft snort, Marian eased the door open. Varric’s suite was situated in such a way that the first room was like a lounge area. A large table with high back chairs dominated the room along with a lit fireplace. Many games of Wicked Grace among Marian’s closest friends had taken place around that table. At this moment the very elf Varric had been describing sat at the head of the table.

With their entrance, he looked up from the untouched mug of what Marian assumed was Varric's favorite whiskey. Like most elves he was lean but there was no hiding the hard muscle beneath the dark jacket and shirt he wore. A mop of shaggy, white hair contrasted against olive toned skin and fell into impossibly, large moss green eyes. His eyes were so distracting it took Marian a moment to notice the white, three pronged tattoo that started beneath Fenris’ bottom lip and traveled down his throat like a vine. It disappeared beneath the neckline of his shirt and similar tattoos graced the bared skin of his arms and hands. Elves were always known for holding a sort of unearthly beauty and Fenris was the epitome of such claims.

“You must be Fenris.” Marian started not bothering to waste time, “I’m Hawke, one of Varric’s closest friends and one of his head writers. You could say the best. He told me about your situation.” 

When Fenris didn’t respond Marian took a seat opposite of him. His wide green eyes bored into hers like hardened malachite. She could feel him actively assessing her, deciding if she was a threat or an ally. It was something she was use to client’s doing however the sheer intensity of Fenris’ gaze made her skin feel too tight and her spine stiffen. She forced herself to meet his gaze with a cheeky grin. He blinked, once, twice and then shifted his gaze back to his still full glass. 

“And? ” 

His voice was not what Marian would have expected. With a deep timber and the slightest hint of an accent it was easily pleasing to the ears. Paired with his looks, the combination was anything but fair. 

“And I want to help you” she answered with a shrug.

Fenris’ eyes flashed, “I do not want your pity.” 

“It’s not pity”, Marian mumbled while fishing out a pack of damp cigarettes, “I’m getting something in return, right? I don’t know what information you exactly have but anything about the Imperium is rare here. Getting to write about it will put me years ahead in my career.”

“I was told as much.” Fenris confirmed eyes fixed on the unlit cigarette between Marian’s lips. He watched her hands as she dug into her coat pocket for her lighter and his shoulders seemed to relax as she flicked the spark wheel and ignited the flame. Why? What was he watching for? 

 

“I told the dwarf I would answer whatever questions you had within reason and anonymity.”  
“Of course” Marian stated, taking a long drag of her cigarette, “You want a smoke?” 

Fenris hesitated before shaking his head, “Where do we proceed from here? Dwarf?” 

At this point Varric had already taken his spot next to Marian, “I’ll have a contract written up regarding everything you and I agreed on earlier. You can read it over, sign it, and my guys should have your new identity set up within a few weeks. You could petition for asylum but the process is...well shitty and there is no guarantee you’d be allowed to stay in Kirkwall. While we get your alias, I have a few safe-houses setup for high profile clients such as yourself so you can stay at one of those. You’ll have to try and lay low if we’re going to pull this off especially since you’re not exactly...inconspicuous.” 

‘Speaking of which” Marian interrupted a trail of smoke escaping between her lips, “We could work on that. I mean the hair you have going on right now is very ‘look at me’...but with a little dye that problem could be solved.” 

“You think I have not thought of such measures? I am an escaped slave on the run from the Tevinter Imperium. I am more than aware that I ‘stand out’.” Fenris growled, “Hair dye does not work. Perhaps it is these markings; I am not sure.” 

Marian’s eyes traced over the exposed patterns on his skin once more, “There’s a story there. Care to tell?” 

Fenris’ sloped shoulders tensed before he let out the smallest sigh of defeat, “You will find out soon enough”, he spat, “ These markings are pure lyrium. My previous master, Danarius, carved them into my flesh as an experiment, such is the way of the magisters.” 

He was holding back. Marian could see it in the clipped tone of his words and the slight flicker of hesitance in his eyes. Oh, he was good, of course. She had no doubt he needed to be able to keep his secrets close to his chest but Marian always had a way with picking out what others did not want her to see. She would let it go for now but soon Fenris would tell her everything. 

She leaned causally back in her chair, “Sounds painful.” 

Varric groaned and palmed his face, “Nice, Hawke.” 

“Yes, I would endeavor to say the slow torture of having lyrium burned into your flesh is painful” Fenris snarled sarcastically. It made his features twist into something ugly, a feat Marian would not have thought possible. A flicker of guilt wormed its way into her gut but she quickly snuffed it out. 

“So for the time being should we get Fenris here set up in the safe-house? Personally, I think we could all do with a good night’s sleep.” 

Varric nodded, “The safe-house I have in mind is not far. There’s the car in the lot across the street or if you prefer you could always walk. Hawke here doesn’t mind the rain but well...some of us are a bit more sane.” 

“I would prefer to walk.” Fenris answered. He stood fluidy from his chair before bending over to grab a small duffle bag near his feet. The process gave Marian a view of his toned ass and she allowed herself a few moments of subtle admiration. Who could blame her? 

The moment she glanced up Fenris’ eyes met hers with a knowing, calculated glint and Marian narrowed her eyes. Had he done that on purpose? 

Fenris slung his duffle over his shoulder, “ Shall we?” 

“Hawke can take you” Varric answered, “I prefer not to walk through the rain and the three of us would attract more attention anyway. You’ll need to keep your hood up. Don’t want anyone to notice a strange elf walking about and have your magisters get wind.” 

Fenris yanked the heavy hood of his jacket up and over his head; obscuring his snowy locks from view. With the zipper of his jacket pulled all the way up the collar of his coat he was able to hide some of his face and all of his tattoos. He looked suspicious but it was better than flaunting his identity. 

“Alright” Marian said, “Follow me.” 

Walking with Fenris was much more complex than it should have been. He refused to talk, prompting Marian to give up on conversion, and would only follow two steps to the left of her. She’d even experimented, moving closer at times or farther away, but the elf was stubborn in his proximity. The way he moved was deadly, each motion calculated, and it attracted attention. In some ways it bore similarities to the assassins among the Antivan Crows Marian interviewed a few years prior. She could only wonder just what Fenris’ duties had been while enslaved. It made her skin crawl. 

The safe house was a nondescript building near the edge of Lowtown. It appeared abandoned but Marian knew Varric kept the inside clean and stocked. Hidden from view were a few surveillance cameras which when activated monitored the front door and side windows. Varric, as well as the occupant of the home, would have access to the feed 24/7. The feed was of course only of the outside of the building to ensure privacy of the occupant. Complete with a high end alarm system the building was a haven of protection. 

Fenris remained quiet while Marian lead him to the front door, the keys Varric had given her already in her hands. She punched in the alarm code and shouldered her way in.

The house was hardly larger than a two bedroom apartment, in fact that terminology better suited it. Upon entrance, the two were greeted with an open kitchen flowing into a tiny dining area and living room. A hallway resided near the back of the room which lead towards the two bedrooms and a single bathroom. It was small but Varric had taken the time to keep it tastefully decorated and welcoming. 

Marian flicked on a lightswitch and tossed the keys onto the kitchen table, “Well, home sweet home. It’s not much but I’m sure it beats wherever the hell you were staying before.” 

Fenris’ eyes flickered about the room, “Indeed.” 

“So” Marian continued, “As you can see the layout is pretty simple. Varric always keeps canned food stocked in the pantry but it tastes like shit so if you make a list I can get you more food tomorrow. Add any personal items you might need too- you know like toothpaste and shit. The locks are all set along with the alarm which I can leave you the code for. The television can be switched to watch the live feed on all the building’ entrances but Varric is the one who knows how to do all that not me. And that’s really about it. Oh, do you have a phone?” 

Fenris shook his head minutely. 

“We’ll have to get you one then- in the meantime if you feel threatened there is a home phone in each of the bedrooms. I’ll leave you my number, Varric’s, and the Hanged Man’s. Any questions?” 

“No.” 

Marian rose a single brow and took a moment to really look at Fenris again. With visible bags under his eyes and the way he shifted his feet it was obvious he was a mixture of nerves and exhaustion. No doubt he wanted her out of his way so he could finally relax; as much as one in his position could. 

She cleared her throat and pulling out her wallet drew out Varric’s business card , “Right, well I’m beat so I’ll be heading out. All the numbers you need are on here and the alarm code is 5900.” 

Fenris reached out for the card, his fingers angled in such a way that he would not have to touch her. He peered down at it in his hand, “Thank you. I will endeavor not to to call.” 

“Whatever you want.” Marian said nonchalantly, “Alright, I’ll see you tomorrow morning. Have that list of things ready for me.” 

……………………

The moment Fenris was sure he was alone he tore apart the safehouse. Drawers, cupboards, and any other hidden spaces were delved into. Although he was fairly certain Varric’s proposition was genuine there was always the potential of being betrayed for the bounty Danarius had on his capture. However, as Fenris continued to search he found nothing damning. Satisfied, he retrieved his duffel bag from the kitchen floor and journeyed back to the first bedroom he’d searched earlier. After setting the bag on the bed, Fenris reached with practiced ease for the concealed 9mm, Glock 43 in the holder hidden against his ribs. The gun felt right in his hands and he could breathe freely again. 

His mind fixated on that Hawke woman. She had not been what Fenris was expecting and he was uncertain what to think. He knew she was driven, that much was certain, but her ambition could be potentially just as dangerous to him as it was useful. At least she appeared not to be a mage. The mages he knew would not have bothered using a lighter to ignite a cigarette; it wasn’t a complete insurance however. Regardless, his time spent with her would have to be a careful balancing act that he wasn't sure he had the energy or time to manage. 

She also was attracted to him, easily proven at the Hanged Man. If need be he could use that to his advantage although he would prefer not. It was something he had utilized in the past during his time with Danarius and the first year of his escape. He liked to think he had put that behind him but survival made one do unexpected things. He supposed if the situation became too hazardous he could always dispose of her but the thought made him sick and brought back images he wished to forget. Images of blood and sightless eyes still frozen in betrayal.  
Fenris sighed falling face up on the bed. It was soft, easily the best place he would sleep in a long time. Of course, there would be no sleeping tonight. It would leave him too vulnerable in such an unknown situation. His body objected strongly to the decision; aching with exhaustion. He could feel it down to his bones and within his limbs but Fenris knew he would manage. He had before. So instead, he stared up at the ceiling, white hair fanned out beneath him and gun in hand, thinking about how he would stay one step ahead of the woman named Hawke.


	2. Fighting

Marian drove her buick through Lowtown while enveloped in the aroma of hot sticky buns, boxed in the passenger seat, and purchased from Orana’s Bakery. With each passing minute the buildings of Lowtown shifted into increasingly decrepit homes and abandoned buildings; the ambiance of Darktown. This section of Kirkwall was named after the soot filled air thick like smoke and birthed from the overwhelming abundance of factories. The melancholic faces of those who begged on Darktown’s streets and the prominence of violence from an absent police force added to the area’s ghastly nature. It was not a place anyone desired to be; unless you were an undocumented mage.  
Near the beginning of her work with Anders, Marian was introduced to the Mage Underground. It was an activist group working towards creating a society where people born with magic could be freed from oppression. It was common knowledge mages were legally required to wear an armband signifying their ability in public. The band was white with a shocking, crimson sunburst originating from the days of Templars and the Chantry. In truth, it was a lie that Templars no longer existed. Instead, the language was simply changed and Temples were now referred to as Handlers. These Handlers still maintained the ability to silence a mage’s power and supervised all magic use by their charge. Only healing magics and others deemed beneficial to society were allowed. The presence of these Handlers, as well as the forced identification, caused blatant discrimination and many mages were unable to find employment or housing. Not to mention a life of contentment. 

If a mage was found to be undocumented and without a Handler they were placed in a specialized prison called the Gallows. Some were still made tranquil if their crimes were dubbed extreme enough. It made Marian’s blood boil and she fully supported the work Anders and the others did. Whether it be pushing for political reform or freeing mages from their Handlers and granting them asylum in Darktown. Despite this passion, it took nearly full two years before Marian was trusted with the Mage Underground’s location of operation; an old warehouse on the outskirts of Darktown. 

As the familiar graffiti, in blacks and blues, appeared upon various building’s craggy walls Marian began to slow her vehicle. These marks, seemingly the art of vagrants, were disguised symbols to allies and mages of the Mage Underground. They promised shelter; in a hidden language provided by recruiters to recruitees. Marian pulled her car to the side of road, grabbed her bag, the sticky buns, and locked the door. She would have to walk the rest of the way. A vehicle parked outside an abandoned warehouse would draw suspicion.  
The walk was short and no one accosted Marian on her way; she was hardly welcoming in appearance. The building she approached was immense in size and imposing, decorated with extravagant graffiti and dented metal plating. Marian knew magical runes, almost undetectable by other mages, littered the surrounding area to warn the occupants of any approaching persons.  
She shifted her items to one arm and walking up to the heavy, metal door, pressed down on a seemingly broken buzzer with her free thumb. It took only a few breaths before she heard the tell tale click of the door unlocking . 

She pushed it open with her hip and was greeted by the shabbily dressed mage who had buzzed her in.

“Here for Anders?” 

Marian nodded, “Sure am. Is he in his office?” 

The mage, she could never remember his name, smiled softly, “Of course, he’s updating the manifesto. Always working, that one, truly inspiring to us all.” 

“He would be more inspiring if he took a shower every now and then” Marian teased, “Thanks, I know the way.” 

Every hallway and door leading to Anders office was surveyed with security cameras and locked to anyone without the passcodes . The measures to others may be perceived as extreme but the authorities would be exuberant to take any of these mages into custody. Anders’ office, as the leader, was in the far back of the warehouse and behind many locked entrances. Several mages greeted her on her way; familiar with her presence. 

Marian punched in the code to Anders’ private quarters, waiting until the light on the alarm pad turned green, before entering. The moment she walked in Anders looked up from his desk and grinned. 

Anders was a good looking man; if he took the time to present himself as such. His strawberry blonde hair was often pulled back into a sloopy half tail and his jaw was littered with light stubble. His nose was a bit long for his face and at times his eyes appeared pinched as if he were staring into a bright light. But, if he relaxed the planes of his features they altered into an earnest, traditionally handsome face. 

She lifted up her box, “Brought your favorite from Orana’s. They’re still warm.” 

His grin only widened, transforming his face from exhaustion to jubilation. Marian grinned in return, placing the box on his desk. He took no time to open it and grab one of the pastries, taking a large bite. 

“So.” Anders asked around a mouthful, “Why are you here? I would love you to just be visiting but I know that’s not usually the case.” 

A playful smirk toyed across Marian’s lips, “As Varric would say, “you wound me”. Her expression sobered suddenly, “But you’re right. Truthfully, I’m here to warn you and hopefully not destroy our friendship.”

Despite the suspicion playing across his features Anders’ eyes grew warm like honey, “I doubt you could do that, Hawke. You know how I feel...what do you have to tell me?”

Marian shifted uncomfortably. Her relationship with Anders had always been professional during their time working together. Afterwards they were able to maintain a strong friendship due to shared ideals. That friendship had morphed into something more for Anders and although he was certainly tempting Marian was not too horrible of a person to fuck him. Not when it would mean one thing to him and something entirely different to her. So instead, she pretended she never knew what he meant. It was cowardly and childish but it had worked for the past two years. 

“Right well, you might feel differently in just a minute”, Marian mumbled, “I’m writing a new piece. Its’ topic may not exactly put mages in the best light but I promise I’m going to do my damn best to avoid that. I just want you to know in case this increases the amount of pressure the Mage Underground gets from Kirkwall’s city council and law enforcement.” 

Anders put down his half eaten sticky bun, brows furrowed, “What do you mean by it might not put mages in the best light? I thought you were an ally? Someone we could trust to help fight against the injustices facing all mages.” 

His voice rose as he spoke; passion and an edge of desperation leaking into his words. Those eyes, warm just a moment before, were now hard like chipped gold, “You can’t possibly be willing to do this, Hawke. Not with what happened to you sister. What is the bloody piece even about?” 

The mention of Bethany stung and Marian swallowed down the lump in her throat roughly, “I don’t want to tell you that just yet; there are some details that still need to be worked out. Like I said I wanted to give you a warning considering our friendship. You know I support what you do here and not just because of Bethany. But I also have a job and I’m going to fucking do it. Don’t ask me to put aside what I want just because it doesn’t coincide with your expectations for me.” 

Anders laughed; face dark and twisted with anger, “My expectations for you? I thought you were someone to count on. I guess I really don’t know you the way I thought I did. If you really supported us , supported your sister, you wouldn’t let this story run at all. You wouldn’t put yourself before the oppressed. I can’t deal with this right now. This is a place of solidarity and justice so just leave.” 

Even expecting his response, it was like a slap to the face. A sliver of doubt, the fear she may be making the wrong choice, wormed its’ way to Marian’s core but she snuffed it out immediately. 

“Okay” she said, “Just don’t let this ruin us. I’ll see you around.” 

Anders didn’t even bother to look up. 

The drive back to Lowtown was significantly more harrowing than the trip to Darktown. Flashes of Bethany’s face, the warmth in her brown eyes and the easy smile, plagued Marian. Those memories were replaced with Bethany’s vacant expressions and the brand upon her forehead. The monotone of her once chipper voice. 

Marian pulled over to the side of the road, vision blurring with angry tears. She struggled to take calming breaths but her chest was too tight and her lungs to small. With a strangled wail she clenched her fists and slammed them against her steering wheel. A few pedestrians, strolling down the street, glanced her way as the car horn sounded. 

It was enough to shock Marian out of her rage and she hurriedly wiped at her eyes. Clearing her throat roughly she put her car back in gear; she had a broody elf to visit. There was no time to be miserable. There was no time to grieve Bethany. 

The safehouse was just as vacant looking in the day as it was at night. Marian made sure to knock on the hard oak door before disarming the alarm and making her way in. The moment she entered she paused. It looked like someone had robbed the place. 

Cupboards were thrown open and canned food tossed aside; the couch cushions and the couch itself flipped and left on the floor. All the cushions were marred with slits, the stuffing torn out and left in a careless pile. Marian had witnessed paranoia from clients before but none at this level. This was going to be an even longer day. She did not have the patience.

She schooled her face to mask her shock, “Fenris? You in here? I might not find you through all this shit.” 

Yes, make it a joke Marian, that’s what you do. 

At the sound of her voice, Fenris appeared from one of the bedrooms. Even from a significant distance, Marian could see the circles under his eyes had darkened to a deep purple and his mouth was set in a weary line. She doubted he had gotten any sleep since she left him. Not surprising considering. 

“What do you want?” 

The deep timber of his voice, roughened in exhaustion to sound like sandpaper, was still shocking. 

“I told you I would be here early.” Marian said, “You know, to get anything you might need and to meet up with Varric. He should be here soon enough. He’ll probably shit himself at the sight of this place though.” 

Fenris glanced around the room as if just noticing its state, “I suppose I could have cleaned.” 

“You think?” Marian quipped only to earn a frigid glare. The elf could kill with that glare. 

Ignoring him, she padded into the open kitchen and grabbed one of the wooden chairs, turning it to face him before she sat down. 

“You want to take a seat? Maybe get something to eat that you haven’t thrown on the floor? Or, I think those apples under the table aren’t bruised too badly.” 

Fenris glowered, brows forming a near ‘v’, before making his way to Marian and pulling out his own chair. He sat as far from her as possible, arms crossed against this toned chest, body taunt with anticipation as if ready to spring up and flee. He did not look the least by amused.

“What is it you want, Hawke?” 

Marian cocked an eyebrow, “I can’t take the time to get to know my newest friend. Make sure you’re well provided for and comfortable?” 

Fenris shifted in his chair, “By “get to know” you mean gain information for your articles? Just speak plainly; we are not friends.” 

“Are you always this charming?” Marian asked drily “You must have been so popular in your old role”

A deep, animalistic growl emerged from Fenris’ throat while his lip curled in disgust. Marian’s eyebrows shot up, her lips parting minutely. For the life of her she couldn’t decide if that was incredibly sexy or completely absurd. She would go with absurd; it was safer that way.

“And you” he snarled, “must submit to bribery with your lack of competence in a profession you chose.”

Marian narrowed her eyes, “Bribery worked on you, didn't it? Desperation drives people to do terrible things so don’t act like you’re any better than me. I’m sure you’ve done some awful shit to survive.I would imagine all slaves have.” 

Fenris stood suddenly from his chair, knocking it over, “Futue te ipsi! You know nothing of slavery.” 

She held up her hands, “I said I would imagine; never claimed I knew so you can calm the fuck down.” 

Fenris only clenched his jaw harder, a muscle visibly twitching. 

Marian sighed. She had a shit morning and she knew she was taking it out on Fenris. Not exactly the best idea considering they would need to work together. Just as she opened her mouth to apologize there was a knock at the door and Varric strolled in. 

The room seemed to still as the dwarf took in the mess and the visible animosity between Fenris and Marian. 

The bag he held in his hand threatened to slip from his grip as he wrestled with his shock, “Well shit. There’s a story here, isn’t there?” 

“Fenris had a rager and didn’t invite us.” Marian interjected with relief. Varric was the perfect buffer. Things could calm down on their own now. 

Fenris shot her another cold look before addressing Varric, “I apologize. I do not mean to appear ungrateful. I have learned during my time on the run that few can be trusted; I had to ensure my safety.” 

Varric surveyed the room again, “I prefer Hawke’s version. Better potential for a story there.” 

Hawke snorted, “I vote we just move on. What’s in the bag Varric?”

He pulled out a thick manilla folder, black hair dye, and a burn phone that Varric always used with clients in hiding. 

“This is the contract” he said to Fenris while sliding the folder to him, “Read it over and if you have questions I have a lawyer I can provide for you. This cell phone already has my and Hawke’s numbers programmed in. We also have its’ number. I’m assuming you don’t have much of a social life but don’t use it for anything else but to contact us. If it still gets compromised destroy it; just like in the movies.” 

Fenris grabbed the phone, pocketing it, “And the hair dye? I told you it will make no difference.” 

“Maybe not before” Varric responded, “But your new identification will say you’re Dalish to help with those markings of yours. Combine that with your new look and you should blend in easier.” 

Fenris sighed but took the box, “I am not fond of the Dalish although I suppose I do not like most people.” his green eyes darted to look pointedly at Hawke before training once more on Varric, “I will play your part, dwarf.” 

“So, it’s decided then.” Varric said, “I have to meet with my contacts working on your identification, elf. Trying to move it along as fast as I can but sometimes these things take time.” 

“How long?” Fenris asked. 

Varric rubbed his beardless chin, “Probably a few weeks. Possibly more.”

Fenris seemed to deflate on his chair, his shoulders slumping, “I see. I suppose I will be unable to leave this place until then.”

“Unfortunately”, Marian answered, “ It might go by faster than you think. But, anyway, I need to head out too. We’ll talk later.” 

She followed Varric to the front entrance not wanting to be alone with Fenris again; just as she went to close the door behind her Fenris called out. 

“No fish.” 

She paused in surprise, looking over her shoulder, “What?” 

“You asked me if I needed anything.” Fenris stated, “I do not like fish. I have no preference otherwise.” 

Marian rose an eyebrow, holding back a satisfied smirk. He might just be talking about food but this was progress. Maybe she didn’t fuck up as much as she thought.

She gave a half hearted wave goodbye before shutting the door, “Alright, Fenris, no fish.”  
…………………..

Fenris wrinkled his nose at the strong, acidic scent of hair dye. His once snowy locks were now saturated in the black substance along with a few smears across his forehead. It irritated the three dots of lyrium there and he was relieved to finally turn on the shower and step inside.  
He washed quickly, despite the soothing warmth of the water; not wanting to remain vulnerable in his own nudity. The water ran dark, staining the white ceramic of the shower and swirling like ink around the drain. Fenris stared at it mindlessly, escaping for just a moment from the prison of his thoughts. Eventually, the water began to clear and he was free to dry off.  
The process of rubbing a towel over his skin still aggravated Fenris’ markings no matter how careful he was. Being forced to look at his own body exceeded that physical discomfort. To see the mutilated skin, to remember what it represented, would never fail to rise bile in the back of his throat.  
He gazed up at the fogged mirror, green eyes examining his now raven hair and trailing over the repulsive lines across his entire form. They snaked down his chest and defined torso, running down in swirls and curves across his arms and legs. His cock, hanging limp yet heavy between his legs was even marred by twin lines of lyrium. He wanted to rip apart his own skin. Wanted to smash the mirror in front of him so he would not have to endure this again. And that Hawke, throwing what he was in his face so casually, he wanted to break her apart as well. He was not a gentle man after all.  
Fenris grabbed an apple after dressing and returned to the bedroom he chose earlier. He’d tossed the cell he’d been given on the bed before his shower and the screen now flashed with a notification. The dwarf, no doubt, ensuring his investment functioned. 

It was not. Instead, Hawke’s name appeared on his screen:

To: Unknown  
From: Marian Hawke

-I’m texting you since we can’t seem to talk without bitching at each other. I get that we’re off to a bad start. I’ve been a bitch. I'm good at that but I’m also a damn good writer. I need this to work out. You do too. Anyway, that’s it. I’ll see you tomorrow to start the interviewing process. Expect me around noon. If you have questions you know how to reach me. 

Fenris snorted, tossing the phone back onto his bed. She truly was infuriating; that woman. To think he would have to tell her of his life made him ill. But perhaps it was good she held no sympathy for his situation, she would not pity him. 

He picked up the phone: 

To: Marian Hawke  
From: Unknown

-Very, well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is really the last chapter to just dump information on you. The rest should be paced quicker and involve more of the characters.


	3. Meeting

Fenris could not recall the last time he slept. He had tried to keep track, but as the fifth day approached, he came to the realization his awareness only added to this torture. In truth, his mind was so addled and his body beyond exhausted he could hardly bring forth conscious thought. He could not even remember what he had done to displease his master. Whatever it had been must have been inexcusable to deem this treatment. Master loved him after all. 

Anytime Fenris’ body attempted to lapse into sleep the soles of his feet were tazed and the bare skin of his back flogged by the guard on duty. His arms, stretched out above him and secured with cuffs, had lost feeling long ago. The metal bit into the skin of his wrists and dried blood caked the torn skin. Twice he had succumbed to hallucinations; visions of his master’s apprentice Hadriana and her mocking face. Of her wandering hands, cold mouth, and sharp nails. 

He was being provided water and a gray, gruel like substance for food but was not allowed the decency to relieve himself properly and instead remained clothed in his soiled pants. The stench made him want to vomit. 

The worst of his punishment was that Master refused to visit. Fenris had not been separated from Master for this long and he found himself aching for his presence. Master loved him after all. 

Fenris was robbed from his wandering mind as the heavy metal door slid open and bright light streamed in. It was a beacon in this darkness and the watering of his eyes was caused more from his relief than the stark adjustment to the sudden light. He dropped his gaze immediately the moment he could see the figure in the door clearly; Master had finally come. 

Fenris flinched as light steps, faint against the cement flooring, approached him. A voice, like a caress, reached his ears, “My dear, poor pet. Look at what you make happen to you. So disgraceful.” 

Shame blossomed in Fenris’ chest, “This slave is sorry, Master. I only wish to please you, Master.” 

Silence accompanied the cell after Fenris spoke and he hesitantly glanced up at his master’s face. Master’s features, considered plain by many, remained frozen in an expression that concealed his thoughts. Fenris let his gaze fall back to the floor of his cell; the ground appeared blurry and he knew tears were brimming his eyes. So shameful. 

Master sighed, “I know my pet. Yet, you continue to fail. I think a few more days in here will do you well.”

“Please, Master” Fenris croaked, “Let me please you. I only wish to serve you.” 

Master shook his head and trained his gaze at the still present guard, “Tell the others to keep him here for another three days. Same treatment as before but do not let him die. I will not see my investment ruined.” 

Fenris held back a sob as the sounds of his master’s steps vanished behind the metal clang of the cell’s door. It was replaced by the whisper of a whip unraveling and the delighted chuckle of the guard. 

“You heard your master; let’s continue.”   
…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

Marian sat back in her chair, staring at the words and blinking cursor on her computer screen. It was already the third month of her time interviewing Fenris and as they spoke the narratives he told had become increasingly personal. Gone were the information dumps about how Tevinter politics functioned. Or the details of how the structure of the slave markets worked. Instead, it was replaced with the gritty realities of a slave's life. 

She’d asked for it, unfortunately shock value ensured more readers, but she didn’t realize what she was going to expose herself to. Even the horrors of the Antivan Crows paled in comparison to this twisted shit. It made her regret her first conversations with Fenris more; she truly was a bitch. The worst part was all her exchanges with him somehow evolved into an argument. They just couldn’t seem to mesh and it was hindering her work. Plus, there was a part of her, despite Fenris being a prick, that genuinely wanted to know him. 

Maybe, it was time to interact outside the environment of their professional relationship. Fenris hadn’t left the safehouse since arriving and there was a game of Wicked Grace planned tomorrow night at the Hanged Man. 

Marian hit the save icon on her document; she would invite him tomorrow and hopefully they could start to mend what she had broken. 

………………………………………………………………………………………………………  
Fenris starred at the rectangular piece of plastic set in front of him. His own face, hair dyed to its’ current onyx, donned the card alongside an alias and personal identifiers. He snorted at the irony; once again another person had given him a name. This time it was Theron Mahariel; painfully Dalish in nature, and he found he hated it. At least he had made Fenris his own. 

He had expected Hawke today but the sun had already set and she usually stopped by in the mornings. So, he spent his day going through his standard exercises, cleaning his gun, and watching the local news to see if there were hints of Danarius. Instead, there was a segment on the shock waves Hawke’s articles were causing within the community and political arenas. Only two had been published so far and the effect they had was greater than Fenris had imagined. It was only a matter of time before Danarius’ agents were able to track down Thedas’ Geographics true place of operation.

Then, Fenris would be able to begin his true plans and take out those who hunted him. He could care less about his confidentiality but letting Varric or Hawke know he wanted to be found would complicate matters; he only hoped they would not be harmed. Despite everything, he did not want their blood on his hands. He was tired of having them stained red and being haunted by vacant eyes. 

Fenris was startled from his contemplation when a knock sounded at the front door followed by the disarming of the alarm. He looked up from his place at the table and frowned as Hawke casually strolled in. She held such an easy claim on this place and it only reminded Fenris of the debt he owed. 

She gave him a half hearted wave before joining him at the table, “Did you miss me? I always wonder what you do here when you’re alone.” 

“I dance.” 

The joke slipped out like water between his fingers and Fenris instantly felt like a fool. He struggled to reign in the heat he felt at his cheeks and ears, cursing himself for the slip in character. He would not be embarrassed in front of this woman. 

Hawke just snorted, “Who knew you had a sense of humor? I like it.” 

“I was thinking” she added while avoiding his gaze, “It’s been a little over three months since you got here and about two weeks since Varric was able to get your id and paperwork. If I were you I know I would be going stir crazy-despite the dancing. If you’re up for it there’s a game of Wicked Grace at the Hanged Man. There will only be a few people I trust and it’ll be in Varric’s suite. They wouldn’t know who you are anyway since I use Malcom as my pen name and Varric goes by Bianca. Not to mention he has a trail of publishing companies to keep Thedas Geographics origin under wraps. Anyway..I know it’s short notice...but it could do you some good..I think..?” 

Fenris knew he was staring, but this was not what he thought Hawke would be suggesting today. He had assumed it would be related to more details from the last anecdote he gave her but apparently Hawke felt the need to integrate herself even further in his life. Had she not done so enough? 

His instant reaction was to decline but as he observed her face it was open and genuine. She rarely appeared so and it softened her features. Made her somehow pretty and younger in a way he had not thought possible for her. Normally, Fenris found her to to be a severe sort of beauty; with her constant smirk and superiority. It reminded him of Hadriana and often made his stomach twist. 

He cleared his throat, “Perhaps you are right. I will admit I have been...antsy.” 

Hawke grinned with her teeth, “Perfect. We can head out now so if you need anything I’d grab it.” 

Fenris stiffened in surprise, “You mean for us to leave now?” 

“Well yeah, it’s already eight and everyone else will be there. I’m guessing you’re going to want to walk so that will take more time.” 

“I see.” 

Fenris stood from his chair and slipped his new id in his jacket’s pocket, “I have all that I need already. Lead the way.” 

The walk was silent. Hawke did not try to lure him into conversation and he found himself grateful. And as the two passed several alleyways, he resisted placing a reassuring hand on the hidden holster beneath his heavy jacket. The familiar route and street signs, memorized from months ago, were the only things keeping him from bolting. 

He supposed if this was some form of trap he still had the element of surprise. Fenris had purposefully hidden from Hawke and Varric the abilities his lyrium markings gave him. If he needed to make a quick escape taking them unaware would prove beneficial. Truthfully, there were a few instances were his arguments with Hawke had threatened to activate the lyrium by emotion alone but Fenris had managed somehow. Infuriating woman; she would ruin all his plans by simply existing. 

The Hanged Man looked just as Fenris remembered; sign flickering and exterior a chipped brick. Marian lead him down the side alley Varric had months ago and through the employee only door. They were greeted by the deafening sounds of bar goers and chaos from the kitchens; it was much louder then Fenris’ previous memories. 

One of the bartenders, a middle aged woman, shot Hawke a displeased look before grabbing a tray of fresh chicken wings. 

“I don’t know why Norah hates me.” she whispered to Fenris as they went up the stairs, “Never did anything to her.” 

Fenris rolled his eyes, “It is simply you. The hate you inspire is unfortunate.” 

Hawke shot him a glance over her shoulder, pausing with her hand on the doorknob to Varric’s suite, “You’re just full of jokes today. Keep it up and I might actually start to like you.” 

“That would be increasingly unfortunate.” he said dryly and Hawke snorted in amusement.

“I suppose it would. Enough talking, get ready to meet the crew.” 

Fenris steeled himself; if she were to ambush him this would be the opportune time. However, instead of bounty hunters he was greeted with a different sort of ambush; the kind only inebriated individuals could make. 

Varric appeared much the same, seated at the head of the table with an impressive amount of betting chips before him. He raised his mug of whiskey at Hawke’s arrival and skillfully hid his surprise at Fenris’ appearance. To his right was an attractive woman with skin darker than Fenris’ own. Her thick, dark hair fell in waves to her shoulders and caused the eye to travel down to her gaping shirt; boasting an abundance of cleavage. She was the type of exuded confidence while maintaining an air of nonchalance. 

A few others, training their eyes on him, resided around the table. There was a petite elf with wide, green eyes that belayed a sense of innocence. Vallaslin, in artistic,earth toned loops adorned the exposed breadth of her forehead and high cheekbones ending in two branches beneath her bottom lip. Her hair was cut short to further expose the length of her ears, whereas most elves preferred to keep it long and hide as much of their heritage as possible. It was obvious she was Dalish and held her elven lineage in high esteem; a rarity outside the reservations. If they could truly be considered reservations. Instead, they were more like prisoner of war camps meant to pacify the Dalish and the public who took an interest in the civil rights of elves. 

There was also a man, strawberry blonde hair held back in a loose tail and stubble littering his jaw. His eyes were gold and tired and his lips drawn in a tight frown. He eyed Hawke from behind his mug with a mixture of anger and longing and Fenris knew there was a story there. A spurned lover perhaps? He would not be surprised if Hawke had many. 

“Hello my darlings” Hawke greeted cheerfully, “Say hello to Theron; he’s new so don’t scare him off.” 

It took Fenris a moment to remember Hawke was referring to him and when he did he gave a stiff nod. 

“Theron, you know Varric. The rest are Isabela, Merrill, and Anders; in that order.” 

The one called Anders set down his mug with an exaggerated thud, “I didn’t realize you would be here tonight, Hawke.” 

“I didn’t realize you would be either” she replied; her voice pitched low in discomfort. It was not a tone Fenris was familiar with from her and he scrutinized her face in surprise. Other than the downturned corners of her mouth there were no hints to what she was thinking. 

Anders narrowed his eyes at the dwarf, “Varric invited me.” 

“Are you and your delicious friend going to sit down or are we all just going to waste time? I have money to win.” 

Fenris’ eyes flickered to Isabela. He curved his shoulders protectively as he noticed her appraising glance. Her nearly amber eyes trailed up his body, an appreciative, hungry glint to them. It was as if he were standing before Danarius’ guests once again, naked and presented as an unwilling offering to their pleasure. He forced himself to stand straight and met Isabela’s eyes in a sharp glare. He would not let her reduce him to a submissive plaything, even in his own mind.

Isabela only smirked and took a long dreg from her mug; eyes still locked on his. Her tongue darted out to lick the corner of her mouth.

“I told you not to scare him away” Hawke teased, although there was a hint of malice to her tone, “But you’re right let’s get this game started.” 

She gestured for Fenris to take a seat next to her with the elven woman on his other side. 

Merrill leaned towards him after he was situated, excitement plain on her face, “Is that vallaslin? I have never seen any like it before? Your name is Dalish; what clan do you come from? I haven’t seen you in the alienage and it’s so rare to find any outside of the reservations-” 

Hawke cleared her throat, “Let’s put a freeze on any personal questions tonight, alright Merrill?” 

The small elf blushed, “Oh my! Of course, I would never want to pry!” 

She looked Fenris in the eye, “Ir abelas, lethallian*.” 

Fenris nodded, “Mas serannas*.” 

Merrill’s face beamed at the sound of her native tongue and Fenris could see Hawke watching him closely from the corner of his eye. He never told her that he was fluent in multiple languages; she would no doubt ask about it later. 

As Varric shuffled the deck, a fresh mug of the Hanged Man’s signature brew was passed to both Hawke and Fenris. Hawke quickly attempted to explain the game’s rules as the cards were passed out and assured Fenris he would pick it up as the game went on. 

As time went on the alcohol in his system became pleasant, casting the events and the room in a warm glow and Fenris found himself relaxing; a dangerous state really. He did not engage in conversation, instead choosing to observe the light banter, and as the rounds of Wicked Grace passed he found Hawke was right and he easily adapted to the rules of the game.

The pile of chips Hawke had loaned him had grown steadily and Fenris took a silent pleasure in stacking them into neat, individual piles. The expression of contempt on Anders’ face only managed to increase Fenris’ amusement. The man had been shooting him dirty looks throughout the night and Fenris could only assume he misunderstood the type of relationship he had with Hawke. If only he knew just how much Fenris could not stand her. 

Another round ended with the Angel of Death card and Fenris gathered the substantial pot.

“Damn beginner’s luck” Hawke groaned, “should have known better than to bring you.” 

“And where did you find such a delectable stray?” Isabela asked coyly while she began passing out the next round of cards; a twinkle in her eye. 

Fenris bristled, “I am no stray.” 

“Isabela could you please try to go one afternoon without trying to sleep with someone new?” Hawke bit out, “We met a while ago while I was in Lowtown. Theron just moved here from Ferelden so we got to talking.” 

Merrill perked up at the mention of Ferelden, “Truly? You don’t sound or look Ferelden but our clans must have crossed paths at some point. We only just migrated to the Free Marches. It’s the Sabre clan. Have you heard of us, lethallin?” 

“Merrill” Hawke warned, “Remember what I said earlier.” 

Merrill’s ears seemed to drop, “Of course, I forgot.” 

Hawke gave her a kind smile, “It’s alright; Theron just doesn’t like to talk about it. Right, Theron?” 

Fenris grit his teeth together, annoyed Hawke felt the need to speak for him, but managed to bite out, “Right.” 

“But why the secrecy?” Anders suddenly spoke up, “It’s not like you have anything to hide. Right?” 

Anders’ golden eyes bored into Fenris accusingly; a smothered fire of vengeance just below their surface.

Hawke spoke before he could, “Don’t do this right now, Anders. Especially not here,” 

Anders barked out a bitter laugh and pushed himself away from the table to stand, “I think I’ve had enough for tonight.” 

Hawke rose from her own seat as he gathered his belongings and began to head for the exit. The two of them stopped just before the door and with a glance over her shoulder Hawke began to speak to him in a hushed tone. Even with his elven hearing, Fenris was unable to hear what the two of them discussed; he could only pick up on the heated tenor of their words. 

The others at the table shared a look and Varric cleared his throat, “Hey Hawke, you in for another round?” 

Hawke and Anders froze, their conversation ending abruptly. When Hawke turned to face the table, Anders took the opportunity to slip out the exit and slam the door shut ; she winced at the sound like it hurt her personally. 

“I actually think I’m going to head back. You good to go, Theron?” 

Fenris took another long sip of his ale, grabbed his winnings, and got up from the table, “Yes.” 

“You could stay, kitten.” Isabela directed towards Fenris, “I have more than enough room.” 

“Bye, Isabela” Hawke snapped. She gave her signature half hearted wave to the others, “We’ll see you guys another night.” 

Fenris simply nodded his farewell and followed Hawke’s back out of the room. 

It had only begun to turn dark on the walk to the Hanged Man but the journey back was ominous in its lack of light. It reminded Fenris of locked cells and the bite of the whip and he struggled to maintain his mask of calm. It was a relief when Hawke, stopping in the street to face him, spoke.

“Did you enjoy yourself?”

Peering down at her face, so open and vulnerable, Fenris found he could not look away. Her eyes shone with hope and her cheeks, normally so pale, were flushed with a mixture of alcohol and the night’s chill. She so obviously wanted him to say he had a good time. Fenris could read it plainly in the tension of her body and he found himself not wanting to hurt her; odd really. 

But why does she care? Why do I? 

“It was tolerable. It appears, however, that you did not enjoy yourself.” Fenris stated, “You and Anders...you are close yet you fight.” 

Hawke sighed and ran a hand through her auburn hair, “ Look, I’m only telling you this since I know you aren’t in the position to go tell anyone and you might be around them again. Merrill and Anders are mages. Anders knows what I do for a living but he won’t identify you so don’t worry. He’s pissed about the amount of backlash the mage community is getting from our articles and wants me to stop the stories. People don’t exactly look kindly on mages when they’re reading about the horrors of the Tevinter Imperium.” 

“They are mages?”, Fenris growled, “And you thought it wise not to tell me beforehand?” 

Hawke’s already pale face grew ashen, “Look, I get that I should’ve probably told you before we went but would you have gone if I did?” 

Rage surged through Fenris’ body and he struggled to keep himself from igniting his lyrium, “Fasta vass*, woman! I will not have you manipulate me. Have you learned nothing from what I have told you? Mages will always find a reason to abuse their power; they are a viper in the nest and you are a fool to align yourself with them.” 

“You better watch yourself”, Marian snapped, “Anders and Merrill are good people and are nothing like the magisters. Fuck, Kirkwall is nothing like the Imperium! Mages are the ones who are imprisoned and enslaved here. You should at least feel some sympathy for them!” 

The lyrium in Fenris’ viens burned. His anger and the pure audacity of this woman was nearly unbearable. He should have never trusted her. 

He made a disgusted noise from the back of his throat before turning and striding away with purposeful steps, “I knew you were not to be trusted; leave me.” 

“Fenris” she called trying to keep up with him, “You can’t just run off without me. It’s not safe for you.” 

“I am more than capable of handling myself” he hissed, “For your own safety I would recommend you stay away from me.” 

Hawke came to a sudden halt, eyes narrowed, “Don’t threaten me.” 

“Then” Fenris gritted out, “Do not follow.” 

Her face, so open moments before, hardened into a cold mask; lips pressed into a thin line, “Fine Fenris, get lost. Get abducted. See if I care, you stubborn ass.” 

Fenris snarled, spitting on the ground at Hawke’s feet before turning sharply on his heel. He could feel her heated glare as he left her behind in the open street. That, fucking, infuriating woman. She would not make him a fool again. 

 

*Fasta Vass- Tenvinter curse   
*Ir abelas, lethallian- I’m sorry, friend   
*Mas serannas- Thank you


	4. Missing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shorter chapter but I wanted to get one out earlier.

Marian woke to the type of headache only a hangover would be generous enough to give. It took her a moment to realize she was in Isabela’s bed, although she knew nothing had happened, and that Isabela herself was gone. With a groan, Marian forced herself out of bed, grabbed her phone, and padded down the hall of Isabela’s apartment. She was greeted by her in the tiny kitchen, the smell of coffee fresh throughout the room. 

“You look like a hot mess, kitten.” Isabela said, “Coffee is fresh and there’s a bottle of stamina potion if you want an extra kick.” 

“Thank god”, Marian moaned and quickly poured herself a fresh cup. She grabbed the bottle of stamina, the amber liquid catching the kitchen’s lights like a prism, and poured herself a healthy portion. 

Isabela took a seat at the small round table located just outside and within view of the kitchen, “So, are you going to tell me why you tried to out drink me last night? On a weekday?” 

The coffee was still too hot when Marian took her first sip and she cursed under her breath. With a sigh she made her way to the table to join Isabela, “I had an argument with Fe-Theron last night after we left the Hanged Man. It was pretty fucking bad. I’m pretty sure he hates me at this point.” 

Isabela peered over her mug as she paused from drinking, “Since when do you care if someone hates you? Are you two fucking? He looks like he would either be the most vanilla fuck you could ever have or the most kinky. Which one was it? Tell your friend Bela everything.” 

Marian shot her a glare, “No, we’re not fucking. And I’m not sure why I care. We argued about mages and you know how much that shit matters to me; maybe that’s why. I’ve been trying my best to help that fucker too but look at the thanks I get.” 

“Shame. He’s so pretty to look at.” 

“Could you please get off the whole sex thing?” Marian begged, “I love you but sometimes it gets old and I know there’s more to you so stop trying to fool me and yourself.” 

Isabela’s face softened and she set down her mug, “You’re too sweet to me, kitten. Why you always try to hide behind that mouth of yours and the “I don’t give a shit” attitude I’m not sure. If your little spat really upset you then suck it up and go apologize.” 

Marian put her head in her hands, “Apologizing to that dick will kill me. But, I guess you’re right. It’s worth a shot.” 

The conversation ebbed from there; the two women occupied by their coffee and a few bagels with cream cheese. The stamina potion and coffee was starting to kick in when Marian’s phone went off on the table where she had set it. She could see Varric’s name across the screen and frowning she quickly answered. 

“Hey, what’s up?” 

“The broody elf is missing. I went to his place this morning to drop off some things and the safehouse was like a ghost town. Tried calling him but he wouldn’t answer. Was hoping he was with you or you knew where he went.” 

Marian stiffened in her chair and her heart felt like it dropped into her stomach, “No, I haven’t heard anything. God damnit, Varric we had a huge argument. Do you think he would leave town? Fuck, what if he left town?” 

“Well shit” Varric mumbled, “Maybe the broody bastard will answer you. Try, give me call if he does, and then meet me in my suite and we can go from there.” 

“I’ll find him Varric” Marian replied, “ If anything I’m good at hunting down information and people even when they don’t want to be found.”

Varric chuckled, “Yeah, trust me I know. I’m hanging up; good luck killer.” 

Marian slumped in her chair with a defeated sigh the moment the call ended, “Well, looks like I won’t be able to finish my coffee. Thanks for the drinks Isabela but I have to head out.” 

Isabela quirked an eyebrow, “I gathered. Go find that delicious elf of yours.” 

Marian gave her a flat look and the finger before collecting her wallet and car keys. Her chest felt tight as she left the apartment and slid into her car parked on the side street. She took a moment to take a few collective breaths before starting her vehicle. 

Her words from last night kept playing through her head in a vicious cycle. She had told him she wouldn’t care if he got abducted and the thought that it could have happened that very night made her sick to her stomach. She would have to believe he simply went out early this morning and wasn’t in the mood to answer his phone. Speaking of which, Marian grabbed her own cell with one hand and called him while she drove. 

The phone rang as if it were taunting her and then stated the voicemail was full. No doubt Varric had called too many times. 

Cursing under her breath Mairan chucked her phone on the passenger seat. She would have to drive around Kirkwall and hopefully spot him.  
……………………………………………………………………………………………………...

She didn’t. The damn elf was nowhere to be seen and the few establishments Marian stopped at claimed they hadn’t seen him. It was already past noon by the time she parked outside the Hanged Man and made her way to Varric’s suite. He was waiting inside, face tense, and his phone at his ear. 

He hung up when he saw her, “No luck either?” 

Marian shook her head, “I looked all over Kirkwall and asked around but no one has seen anyone with his description.”

Varric cursed under his breath. 

“I was thinking” Marian interjected, “I should wait at the safehouse in case he comes back. You have more contacts so hopefully one of them might have a lead.” 

Varric stood up from his chair and started to pace, “It could be a good idea. Look Hawke, I downplayed this a bit but my contacts have been keeping tabs on the Imperium. They aren’t pleased by what we’re doing here and have already sent out some emissaries to Ferelden, Orlais and now the Free Marches. They have people with them that claim they aren’t here to hunt anyone down but it’s obvious what their purpose is.” 

It was Marian’s turn to curse. 

“Even more reason for me to wait at the safehouse” she said, “I guess it’s not like we didn’t expect this but I wasn’t expecting them to take action so fucking fast. I suppose we can find a way to interview one of them. Get another side of the story.” 

“Hawke, I love your tenacity but that is one of the dumbest things I’ve heard you say.” 

She folded her arms across her chest, “Don’t be a dick. I should head over now; let me know if you get a hold of Fenris.”

“Sure thing Hawke. And you let me know too.” 

………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Marian parked her car down the street from the safehouse and tried texting Fenris on her way to the building’s front door. Despite Varric stating Fenris hadn’t been there she still knocked, it was his home for the time being, before disarming the alarm and letting herself in. The inside was deathly quiet but nothing seemed out of place. Although, considering Fenris was a slob it was often hard to tell where things were. 

“Fenris?” 

When there was no answer Marian searched the few rooms the house managed to have only to find all were empty. She tried the phone again but it still went to voicemail. Frustrated she sent a quick text to Varric to let him know Fenris was still gone and settled in for the long wait. 

It was late evening by the time she heard the alarm disarm and the door creak open. A wave of relief washed over her as she watched Fenris enter the house and close the door behind him. The relief was quickly followed by a surge of anger. 

Fenris paused when he saw her, “How long have you been here?” 

“Just about all fucking day.” she snapped, “ I get that you were angry at me but you could have answered your fucking phone. We had no idea where you were and I was starting to think you got taken by some Tevinter asshole.” 

Fenris calmly made his way to the kitchen and started pulling out leftovers from the fridge, “I thought you could care less about what happens to me?” 

“Are you fucking kidding me? You put us through that for something so petty. People say things they don’t mean when they're angry Fenris. Of course I don’t want you to get forced back into fucking slavery; I’m not a monster. And to be honest you might be a complete dick but I do care about you as a person.” 

Marian could literally see the moment Fenris took all her words in. His brow furrowed in that near ‘v’ it always did and he grew still like he was made of stone. When he turned to face her she could see the confusion in his stunning, green eyes.

“You were worried?” 

Marian threw her hands in the air, “Of course I was worried you ass.” 

Fenris’ brow furrowed more, “Why? Why do you care? Does your magazine mean that much that you are willing to put up with, as you put it, a “complete dick”. 

Marian exhaled through her nose, “Look, I do care about you. You’ve been through too much shit to have to go back into it again. It makes my stomach hurt just thinking about it. And no before you accuse me of it I don’t pity you. Varric was just telling me that there’s been activity from the Imperium in response to our articles. We need to be more careful now.” 

A light seemed to ignite in Fenris’ eyes, “Truly? They have arrived here? When?” 

His body language was too eager; too open for someone who was normally closed off and Marian scrutinized him closely. It made no sense that he would want anyone from Tevinter getting close to finding his location. It would either be a bloodbath or an ambush and either would no doubt cause some form of international ramification. 

She was about to explain when it hit her; he knew exactly what would happen. 

Marian looked straight at Fenris; making eye contact, “You want to be found.” 

The color beneath Fenris’ earthy skin seemed to drain, “I have no idea what you are implying.”

Marian’s lips slowly aligned themselves into a queer smile and she walked up into Fenris’ personal space, “ Don’t try to bullshit me. I bet this was your plan all along; right? But don’t worry. An international incident, the dark workings of the Imperium, and an escaped slave on a quest for revenge…well this story has just gotten even more interesting. ” 

She leaned in so close she could feel Fenris’ breath on her face, “I’m in.”

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first story. So if you're interested please let me know and I'll keep trudging along. Input is appreciated.


End file.
